


Sign Here, Please.

by silveradept



Category: Original Work
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/F, Professionalism In The Face Of The Weird, shameless flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-11-27 10:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20947172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveradept/pseuds/silveradept
Summary: Deliver a package to someone answering the door in lingerie, get the signature and tell them to have a nice day. Once is strange, twice is coincidence, three times is speculation. It'll take a few more times before Emily gets the hint.





	Sign Here, Please.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quin/gifts).

The first thing she thought, when the door opened, was that sapphire was a criminally-underused tone in clothing.

The second thought came crashing through the first when she realized how little the sapphire covered on the woman smiling at her.

"Signature, please," Emily said, extending the pen and digital signing pad for the parcel she had set on the porch.

The woman inside the door put on a pout, but signed anyway and took the parcel inside. 

"Have a nice day," Emily said, heading back toward her vehicle.

Emily made it all the way back to the truck before shaking her head. It wasn't the first time someone had answered the door in their underwear. She had probably been hoping for the last carrier, who had been lured away from civic life with the promise of riches modeling clothes more suited to the bedroom than to the postal service.

His face would start appearing on the advertising circulars soon enough, and then she could have a cry and some ice cream about the one that got away. At least this particular incident would qualify past the first round of "what's your weirdest story out on a route?"

Emily put the incident out of her mind and continued on her route.

* * *

There was something to be said for being comfortable in your own skin, and your own house, but in Emily's opinion, this was much more familiar than she would have expected a person to be with her mail carrier.

There wasn't anything aesthetically wrong with what she was looking at, but Emily usually expected people to scramble for a bit to cover up something like the emerald and lace camisole and boyshorts combination she was being treated to.

To each their own, Emily supposed. She could remain professional in the face of anything, including someone who had made the decision to tell society that their conventions around modesty and a woman's body could fuck off. 

"Signature, please," she said, offering the pad and pencil to the woman. She checked the pad and handed over the parcel. "Have a nice day."

Her women's studies professor likely would have approved of this display, Emily thought as she started the truck. And then encouraged her to write several pages about fashion, underwear, and how it intersected with feminist ideas about beauty and autonomy, which would have taken a lot of the joy out of having a legitimate research reason to look at beautiful nearly-naked bodies.

Now she knew that runway pieces would cost more than her monthly salary, and she felt lucky that she could occasionally find something that fit her correctly and buy five of them before the company inevitably went out of business. Reality was always less glamorous.

Those pieces had looked new, though. Must have been expensive.

* * *

A week later, Emily suspected Ms. Ophelia Metaxas of Sable Lane was an exhibitionist. Nobody else would have answered for a parcel in a bustier clearly too small for her, based on the very real possibility that she would simply spill out of it if she breathed improperly, and matching briefs. And especially not after having answered for parcels two times before in different designs of underwear. 

"Signature, please," Emily said, offering her the pen and digital pad.

"Would you wait for a moment?" Ms. Metaxas asked as she signed and received her parcel. "I want to be sure these are what I ordered." Tearing open the box, she gave a small squeal of delight, removing a pair of thigh-high black leather boots with at least four inch platform heels.

"What do you think?" she said, showing Emily one of the boots.

"They clash with your outfit. And I'm not entirely sure why you want that much heel. You're already quite tall."

"They accentuate my legs, or so the website said," Ms. Metaxas said, although she sounded more disappointed than excited about that. "Guess I'll have to try them on and see."

"Have a nice day," Emily said, heading back toward the truck. She thought it might be a good idea to put a note in the system about Ms. Metaxas's proclivities about answering the door, but all she had done was answer the door in less clothing than Emily had expected. Ms. Metaxas didn't seem worried, ashamed, or apologetic about it, either, so it seemed inappropriate for Emily to be any of those things at her.

More importantly, though, Larry would want to know whether anyone has been hurt (no) and whether Ms. Metaxas had said or done anything inappropriate to her (also no). And then would ask for details about her appearance, ostensibly for "the report". And might assign someone else to the route to see if she would do the same for them. Best not to mention anything unless it became a danger.

* * *

"What do you think, Emily?" Ms. Metaxas had asked when she answered for her parcel next, giving her a twirl to see the outfit she had chosen to exhibit. 

"That looks profoundly uncomfortable," Emily said. "I didn't think it possible for leather to be a complete outfit like that."

"It's actually quite well-padded, but you would have to take it off of me to find that out." She smiled a hopeful smile.

Emily looked at her watch and blanched. Larry always appeared to enjoy wasting time about "punctuality", and she didn't need the half-hour lecture she'd get if she came back late. She had a ball game to go to. "Signature, please." Emily said, holding up the pad and pen.

Ms. Metaxas' eye twitched, but she took the pad and signed. "At least tell me whether you like the boots."

"They do accentuate your legs," Emily said noncommittally. "I'm sure they'll be great for the person you bought them for. Have a nice day."

Ms. Metaxas looked at Emily quizzically as she hauled the unwieldy parcel inside. Ms. Metaxas certainly looked like she had more to say, but Emily was already getting to the truck by the time she came back to the door.

Emily hadn't pegged Ms. Metaxas as a leather enthusiast, but she did know that plenty of people had more than one kink in their toolbox. Perhaps her partner enjoyed it. Right now, though, she had to make up some time. She didn't want to miss first pitch, and traffic was already going to be terrible.

* * *

"Oh, hey, Emily," Mark called to her as she was getting off shift. "Remember that note you left me last week about the lady who likes to sign for her packages in her underwear?" 

"Yes, and thank you for covering my route last week. Did she put on something good for you?"

"No," Mark said, shaking his head. "Nobody put on any lingerie for me. Closest I got was one lady who had a full-length plush bathrobe on when she signed for her parcel."

"Nothing else?"

"Nada."

"Huh." Emily pondered this new information. "Thanks again for covering."

"No problem. Keep yourself safe, okay? Don't want to read about you ending up in a ditch somewhere."

"I will."

* * *

Emily knew her jaw was hanging open, but she felt like the situation called for it.

"Are you auditioning for the Victoria's Secret runway?" she asked, taking in the sight. Scarlet corset design, matching stockings, and…well, she couldn't guess how high they were, but the heels looked painful and impractical to do anything in at all.

The thing that turned it over-the-top, though, were the wings. They were as tall as Ms. Atraxas, and they were clearly meant to evoke the idea of a phoenix, colored in stages from the red of her corset to a vibrant flaming orange at the ends of the feathers farthest away from her body.

"Actually, I was planning on going on a date with Carmen Miranda," Ms. Atraxas said dryly. "She had to cancel, though, so I'm free, if you would like."

Several half-formed ideas found their missing pieces and presented Emily with their conclusions.

"Are you flirting with me, specifically?" Emily said, because while ideas may be brilliant and eloquent in your head, they still have to transform into language to be communicated.

"_Yes_," Ms. Atraxas said exasperatedly.

"Oh." Emily felt like there should be more talking from her about this, but nothing seemed ready to go. "Why?"

"You really don't see it, do you?" Ms. Atraxas said, shaking her head. "Finish your route, and then, please, come back here tonight. You deserve to see yourself how I see you, at least for one night."

"I'll…think about it," Emily said. "Signature, please," she said, offering Ms. Atraxas the pad and pen.

Ms. Atraxas signed the pad. "I'll see you at seven," she said to Emily, accepting the parcel and closing the door.

"I didn't say yes," Emily said to the door, for as much as that apparently mattered. 

She turned over the offer in her head as she headed back to the truck. She'd never been told she was particularly attractive by any of the people that she'd slept with. They'd said she had a refreshing honesty about herself and how nice it was to have a relationship with someone who neither thought of themselves as worthless trash nor as the gods' gift to humanity. Ms. Atraxas sounded like she intended to flatter Emily into thinking she was more attractive than she actually was. After all, the postal uniform was meant to be functional more than it was ever meant to be stylish. On the gripping hand, Ms. Atraxas had also answered for her packages in increasingly impractical outfits, which suggested it wasn't flattery but a genuine desire. What would a relationship potentially be like with someone who genuinely believed she was attractive?

The thought was enough to get Emily through the rest of her route and back to her apartment to stare at her closet. There wasn't anything she had for outerwear that could match the fanciness of Ms. Atraxas's underwear, but Emily chose something she thought of as tasteful and drove back to Ms. Atraxas' house. 

At seven precisely, Ms. Atraxas opened the door right before Emily knocked. Seeing Ms. Atraxas wearing a dress was momentarily confusing for Emily. 

"Oh," Ms. Atraxas said, taking in her outfit. "I suppose I didn't say what we were doing. No matter. Come in." 

"What _are_ we doing, Ms. Atraxas?" Emily asked, staying outside.

"Well, first I was going to play dress-up with you so that we would both make the boys drool when we stepped outside," Ms. Atraxas started, ticking points off on her fingers, "then we would have a nice dinner where I would have a lot of trouble keeping my eyes and hands off of you, and then, hopefully, we'd come back here and you'd get to see what you delivered today before we left all our clothes in a pile and spent the night giving each other orgasms."

"That's…not was I was expecting to hear," Emily said, turning scarlet at the sheer frankness of Ms. Atraxas's proposal. "It's a lot to take in."

"You seem like the kind of person that wants honest communication, Emily."

Emily nodded. As she thought about it, she felt she should have realized where the conversation was going. She was still intrigued to see what it would be like to be thought of as beautiful.

"Sure," Emily said. "But only so long as we check-in along the way and make sure we both want to continue."

"Delightful!" Ms. Atraxas said. "I've got the perfect dress for you, Emily. And, by the way, call me Ophelia."

Emily followed Ophelia inside, hoping that she wouldn't end up in a ditch somewhere. And that the dress was sapphire.

The dress was amethyst. Other than that, the night went according to Ophelia's plan.


End file.
